Never Talked About!
by MockingjayWolf
Summary: Watch the never-before-seen footage of the years of Games that were never aired, from Gamemakers' mistakes to blood-thirsty chicken mutts to the infamous 'Twelve-Second Games! Generously sponsered by Cutting Edge Razors and Liquid Skyliner, not to mention Caesar Flickerman's own Smile Away! Capitol TV presents...The Late Dinner Show Special with Caesar Flickerman!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Yet another Hunger Games humor fic. I never tire of writing these! Okay, now to get the formalities out of the way:

a) Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plots of the Games...

b) This idea was brought to life mostly by** Eagle-of-the-Ninth**, who wanted credit for it (and **Algie888** for catering - by which she gave me paper to write Eagle's and my ideas down on). Thanks to the both of you!

c) Unfortunately,_** this is Capitol TV, so there will be commercial breaks**_. Hopefully by the end of this fan fiction you'll be the proud owner of your very own set of Capitol Cosmetics.

d) Read and Review please, as I get a lot of my discipline to write from reviews (they nag me all day long, which is bad when I'm studying for a test)... blah, blah, blah, please review!

I've got to run - the show's about to start! Sit back, relax, and enjoy-

**!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!**

**"And we're live in 3...2...1..."**

_Generously sponsered by Cutting Edge Razors_ ("Up Your Game with the Blade that Gamemakers Use!") _and Liquid Skyliner_ ("The Secret Weapon Used by Professionals"), _and brought to you with limited commercial interruption by Caesar Flickerman's own Smile Away!_ ("Dazzling! Dazzling! Dazzling! Be the Star of Your Own Show!"), _Capitol TV presents...The Late Dinner Show Special with Caesar Flickerman!_

"Good evening to the Capitol! As you all know, we've got the 73rd Games coming up in a matter of weeks. There have been many, many Hunger Games over the past three quarters of a century. There have been triumphs, successes, blood, gore, love and death. Lots and lots of death. But there have also been quite a few Games that have been banned from showing on the television, for many reasons. Some are simply too horrible to be shown on the air. Some have been Gamemakers' mistakes - _that will never be repeated_. Some were simply too funny to show the dignified people of the Capitol. But for the next however-long-this-broadcast is, I, Caesar Flickerman, your host for last year's, this year's and next year's Hunger Games, will take you through 72 years of...

_The Games That No One Ever Talks About!_  
_Featuring..._

Gamemakers' Horrible Mistakes - the 1st and the 2nd Hunger Games!

The time when a certain District escort couldn't pronounce a Tribute's name!

Mass suicide by Tributes - was it a plan or were they just stupid?

A blast from the past - the year when the Gamemakers decided to incorporate a historical event!

Why do the Gamemakers almost never use water-landscapes for arenas? The shocking secrets are revealed!

The Infamous Twelve-Second Games!

What happens when a little too much lava is used?

Why President Snow just won't talk about chicken mutts - featuring an interview with Snow himself!

A certain Games that has everyone bleeding to 'deaf'!

When tracker implants become time-bombs: eleven Tributes' nightmarish six hours of waiting!

Cannon mis-firings!

When a Tribute becomes 'Queen of the Mutts'!

And much more!

_Coming to you live from the Capitol, this is Caesar Flickerman - welcome to 'Never Talked About'!"_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Very 1st Hunger Games

_"Now, in the beginning - yes, even before** I** was born, folks - ahahaha! Oh, I'm so hilarious. Anyway, in the beginning... there were mistakes. Lots and lots of mistakes. Take the first Games, for instance. These were never actually aired - that's right, gasp! The reruns you see on TV are just puppets. Very... very talented... puppets. ANYHOO! Let me lay it out for you, folks - the Gamemakers were new... they had no idea what they were doing... and there was a mistake with the geographical location of the arena. Suffice to say, it was a very short Hunger Games. Let's watch!"_

**!~!~!~!**

I raise my eyes slowly, squinting in an attempt to get the sun out of them. I'm scared. Scareder than a cow in front of a cattle prod. Or a kid faced with the prospect of only a single sandwich for lunch instead of a double one.

I'm from District 10. I'm the mayor's son. I'm big-boned (or as some kids as school would call me: Tubby McTubster). And I do _not_ belong here.

Standing on my platform, I use the few precious moments I have to scope out my fellow Tributes - as best I can, anyway. I have terrible eyesight, to say the least, and my glasses were taken away from me by my stylist before I launched. ("Oh, you'll look bettah, darlink! So mucho mucho handsome!") Or something like that.

All of them look bigger than me - that terrifies me. All of them look stronger than me - that terrifies me. One of them is curled up in a fetal position on his platform, sucking his thumb - that terrifies me.

Wait a second. Concentrate, Monty! I push myself, wiping away a thin stream of sweat as the sun pounds down upon me. My baby-fat (because that's all it is - baby-fat... it'll go away soon!) jiggles slightly in focus.

I can't afford to be a trembling cry-baby this year, I tell myself. Not this year. This is the big time, babe. The Hasta La Vista of all motherlodes. The Hunger Games. And I can win this. So what if I can't run as fast as a cheetah, or even a turkey? So what if I weigh roughly the same size as one of District 10's draft horses? So what if I got scared and cried for three hours that time when a beetle ran within ten feet of me? So what if-

Let's just stop right there.

As far as I can tell, we're in an open, grassy plain. Like a savannah of some sort. It's kind of pretty, with the golden grasses swaying in the wind, but I shiver as I think of what muttations might be lying in wait for me out there. I have no idea what to do - it's the 1st Hunger Games, after all. I think everyone's scared!

The gong is set to go off any second, and the Tributes on either side on me - the only ones I can see clearly without my glasses - are poised like dancers, up on their toes, necks craned in exactly the same direction. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were statues. Their eyes are wide in disbelief.

I try to look at what they're looking at, but the world is blury. Fantastic. _I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die..._

No. Wait a minute - what is that? _I'm saved! I'm saved! I'm saved! I'm sav-_

Never mind. Just a glint of light.

_I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die-_

Wait. _Hah!_ A black whip, lying right next to a curved sword of some sort, right by the Cornucopia. I may not have been useful for anything but a sponge back in District 10, but I know how to use a whip well enough to snap a kid's neck. And if I can't, there's always that sword I can run 'em through with. Or whatever it is you do with swords. Maybe I won't die. Maybe I'll survive. Maybe I'll go home. Maybe I'll finally get a girlfriend.

Yeah, right. _But still, better to go out fighting, right?_ the tiny, brave part of me shouts.

_No!_ wails the large, cowardly part of me. J_ust curl up and accept your fate! Maybe they'll be nice! Maybe they won't want to play this Game!_

And then the gong goes off. I scream - higher than I would have liked - and start lumbering towards the whip. It's, like twenty feet away from me - _do you have any idea how far that is?_ But I reach it eventually, panting hard, and hoist the whip above my head, clamped in a meaty fist.

"Come and get me!" I screech, quoting a line from a book or a movie or something like that. I don't know.

Silence. Absolute silence. "Guys?" I ask. "I said: come and get me!" I'm suddenly confused. Where is everyone? There should be screams by now. I can barely see anything - and suddenly glasses are the first thing on my mind. There have to be a pair around here somewhere! I start feeling around for some.

_Crunch._

Whoops. Maybe there is _another_ pair around here somewhere.

Thankfully, there is. I smash them onto my nose, so desperate to know what's going on. Maybe they've all hidden and are planning to jump me. Maybe they've all killed each other already - maybe I'm a winner!

But as I take in the scene around me, I'm suddenly _very_ thankful for my stylist and the fact that he took my glasses away.

Corpses lie still on the ground, but not all around me. At least a hundred feet away, they lie, practically piled on top of each other, like some sadistic work of art. I frown. _What the-_

Then I see. And I understand. The outline of buildings, skyscrapers even, punctures the horizon, so close to me I could touch it. In fact, I actually reach out a hand, wondering if the tips of the buildings will feel like needles. Of course, no cigar.

But the pile of dead Tributes lies between me and civilization. I can feel bewilderment beginning to cross my face. Is Gracey...?

I race over to the Tributes and, two fingers pinching my nose shut, reach out delicately and push away an easily six-foot boy, revealing a girl with gorgeous coral lips and cream-colored hair - and a look of hopeless hope on her face. Gracey, my fellow, beautiful Tribute from District 10, could run like a rabbit. And it killed her. She was so perfect in life, and almost seems perfect in death. I could cry.

Of happiness.

But instead I laugh, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. Gracey was always so horrible to me in school, criticizing me for my body-shape and my glasses. She was beautiful, and all the boys wanted her, but she was an absolute _mbwajike_ to me and anyone she didn't like. (Just a tidbit of info, I took Swahili as an elective in school - of course, in Panem it's a dead language, but it was fun while it lasted.)

"_Hah!_" I say to the girl's dead body. "How ya like me now, Gracey?" I do a little dance of victory, spinning around the bodies breathlessly. No, really - breathlessly. I'm an asthmatic. "I'm still breathing! In fact, all of you!" I gesture to the pile of Tributes. They do not respond. "You all thought I couldn't do it! But I beat you!" I step over the bodies and walk forward, swaggering a little, towards civilization - presumably the Capitol, where I will be welcomed like a hero. I'm going home. And I'm the Victor. The very first Victor. And now I can be the _mbwajike!_ "Now all I have to do is-" I crash into something invisible and everything goes black.

**!~!~!~!~!**

_"Ooh! That was a particularly horrible Games, wasn't it? Poor young Monty thought he was going home, but instead he hit the arena wall. So, there was no Victor that year. Sad, but we got over it eventually - though it took us ten whole minutes! Ahahahahaha! I'm so funny, it kills me. Anyway, a little too close for comfort, but only just. If only the Gamemakers hadn't put the arena so close to the Capitol, we could have had a gloriously bloody Games, just like we do every year. Well, almost every year. In the 2nd Hunger Games, it would appear that the Gamemakers didn't learn anything... but stay tuned, folks! 'Never Talked About!' will be back after these messages."_


	3. Commercial 1

**A/N: **First off, thanks for reading! Special thanks to **Mockinguy19**, **MariannaElizabeth**, and **Guest** for reviewing! This story has had over 100 views and has been up for less than 24 hours - so I know you guys are reading. Please review - I know, like, everyone says this, but it _does_ mean a lot to the author.  
Anyhoo, please enjoy this commercial, brought to you by the ever-so-gracious Capitol! Caesar's show will be with you soon!

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**Commercial Break**

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**GIRL,_ rolling over - despite the fact that she's been crying, her makeup is flawless:_ **Other girls look beautiful whenever I go to PaneMall - Panem's #1 mall. I want to look like them!

**WOMAN,_ laughing_: **Why, dear, I can help you with that!

**GIRL,_ incredulous, looking at the camera:_ **You can?

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	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2: The Very Second Hunger Games**

_"Ah, yes, the 2nd Games, one of my personal favorites, simply because it was the Victor's fear that saved her! Now, some might argue that the 1st and 2nd Games hold a very close resemblance to each other, but I say that the 1st Games was memorable because the Gamemakers simply put the arena too close to civilization, and the Tributes ran into the well-spaced out force-fields trying to reach it. As for the 2nd Games... well, we shall see! Sit back and relax!"_

_!~!~!~!~!_

"Well, this couldn't possibly get any worse," I murmur to JonJonJon matter-of-factly. He mumbles something incoherent, nodding vigorously, and goes back to straightening my already sleek black hair.

JonJonJon smiles and says, "Well, honey, I would help you, but you're kind of on your own now."

"Tell me about it," I snap. Thanks for the obvious, JonJonJon. My stylist is supposed to support me, but he's doing a great job of terrifying me even further.

"Well, into the great glass elevator for you, honey!" JonJonJon says sunnily, bundling me into the tube that will invariably take me to my doom.

"Great glass elevator?" I ask, pleading for something to distract me.

"Oh, nothing, honey. Just an inside joke for Road Dall fans!" He turns away and starts gathering his styling equipment.

"Road Dall?"

"Well, he's a famous Capitol author, honey. Nothing to concern your little District 3 head about, considering..."

"Considering that I'm about to die," I remark, trying to quell the feelings of panic beginning to rise inside me.

"Exactly!" JonJonJon beams. "Oh, I'm so glad you understand me, honey. We are, like, so in synch. It's like we have a psychic connection or something!"

"Or something," I mutter.

"Bye, honey!" He waves and presses the big black button on the desk, allowing the doors of the tube (or 'great glass elevator' or whatever) to slowly slide shut.

"Bye, JonJonJon!" I mimic and wave cheerily at him. As soon as the doors are fully shut, I say to him, "You're a f** $ $ $*******^^!**^^^******** mental patient and you need a new name, you j* #$%^&*(!%%^& $#$!sonofa%^ &$ %^!" So much for the District's politeness, but JonJonJon was really driving me to the brink of insanity. Hopefully the Gamemakers will edit my little outburst out of the show.

JonJonJon, of course, cannot hear me through the soundproof glass, and grins toothily at me as the platform begins to rise up.

I start breathing faster, slowly working myself up into a panic attack. Let's get one thing straight: I am a complete coward, and the idea of going into the Hunger Games made me wet my pants. Four times. In a row. On live television. During my interview with Caesar Flickerman. Let's just say my sky-blue skirt had turned a very dark shade of cobalt by the end of the interview.

Anyway, the platform rose up, and I found myself surrounded by grass. Long, waving grass, yellow like wheat - not that I would know anything about that because District 3 is technology.

I could barely see my fellow Tributes' heads, which was a good thing, because they couldn't see the fear on my face and the slowly spreading stain in my pants. I smiled weakly at nothing in particular and tried to think positive.

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens_

_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_

_Augmented reality made up of strings_

_These are a few of my favorite things_

_Cream colored computers and crisp Apple iPhones_

_Technological innovations ranging from lasers to silicon bones._

I swallow nervously as I hear someone scream a battle roar as the final twenty-second countdown begins.

_Killing and dying and slaughtering and dying_

_These are a few of my least favorite things._

_When the mutt bites_

_When the tracker jacker stings _

_When I'm in horrible pain_

_I simply remember my favorite things _

_And then I can die slightly_

_More peacefully._

Yeah. Now I feel much better.

The gong goes off and I stifle a scream, preferring just to shut my eyes, freeze and wait for it all to be over.

See, my parents were always talking about the fight-or-flight reflex, and I have recently discovered I have neither. I have what I call the 'freeze-like-a-deer-in-headlights-and-pray-for-the-end-to-come-swiftly' reflex, which doesn't make much sense because my mother's a fighter and my father's a flighter, so you'd have figured I would be one or the other.

And so I wait. But nothing happens. Tentatively, I open one eye, and then the other.

A girl's shriek pierces the air and I curl into a ball, rocking back and forth. Over the grass, I see what looks like a small, blue lightning bolt appear and disappear in a nanosecond. This makes me feel slightly braver, because electricity is also one of my favorite things. And the only sound I can hear is that of my ragged breathing and the wind softly rustling the grass. You would have thought to hear the wails of the dying by now.

_"STOP!" _a voice yells from overhead, and I flinch, expecting to have a sword thrust through my heart at any second. But nothing happens, and I suddenly recognize the voice of the new Games commentator; Claudius Templesmith.

"_DON'T MOVE!_" he says, and I obey.

A hovercraft materializes over my head and a ladder drops from below. I can't see anyone else because of the too-tall yellow grass, but I grab onto the ladder like a lifeline. My feet are lifted off the platform, which I never left.

As the electric shock freezes me to the rungs, I look down on the battlefield - and a strange sight meets my eyes. Tributes lie like discarded water bottles, strewn about the fields, all near their respective platforms.

As I am hoisted up into the hovercraft, a Capitol woman says loudly, "Well, those Gamemakers have gone and done it again. They've misplaced the force fields! The Tributes ran into them like headless chickens!"

And I understand what has happened. All of the Tributes must have leaped off their plates and run smack into the force fields, which were placed _way _too close around the platforms. It's kind of funny, in a morbid way, if you think about it. The Gamemakers have made yet another mistake.

And I'm the winner. I'm the Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games, which took less than two minutes.

Out of my pocket, I pull a big red button, a small invention of mine which was the token from my district. It says "easy" on it. I press it gleefully.

_"That was easy."_

_!~!~!~!~!~!_

_"Ooh! Well, that was short, so you'll be seeing another clip again in a few moments. But that District 3 girl was really very lucky, wasn't she? Of course, the Gamemakers of that year's Hunger Games all met rather unfortunate ends within the month. Ouch!"_

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_**A/N: **_Sorry about the late update; my poorly chosen excuse is writer's block. Anyway, thanks for reading and especially reviewing! And reviews for this chapter are appreciated; thanks for your support!

The next chapter features more serious (_as if I could ever be serious_) content - again about the platforms! It should be up soon!


	5. Chapter 4

**The 5th Hunger Games**

_Because the 3rd and 4th Hunger Games passed without a hiccup - you all know how it is, don't you - with kids murdering each other left, right and center, we won't be watching them. After all, we're here to see interesting Games, aren't we? And this next one definitely qualifies as interesting, not because of the Victor, but because of the kids who died..._

_~:~:~:~:~_

I've never been a fan of the norm. Not me. I like the different, the strange, the border-line creepy. I don't go with the flow, and I resent anyone who does. Needless to say, I resent a lot of people.

Ahem. Hi. My name is Normanuel Spihes, I'm sixteen years old, and I'm from District 5. We generate the power for entire nation, and often I wonder what it would be like to climb up to the main power generator and shut the entire thing off. No electricity, no power. It would be a dark haven. Just what I need.

I have long black hair, and I'm what my psychiatrist calls a 'goth' or 'emo'. Not sure which, since she claims I switch on a regular basis. My hobbies are cutting school, wearing head-to-toe of black and listening to lots and lots of music. I have a group of friends at school who would go into the Hunger Games for me.

At least that's what I thought, until my name was pulled at the Reaping. I walked up onto the stage, not looking Jeana Loverly, District 5's escort, in the eye, dreading the moment when my friends would be tested.

"Any volunteers?" Loverly had called, looking out inquiringly over the sea of people. District 5 is large, and I don't know most of the people in it, but I had hoped that one of the few people I knew and actually liked would be brave enough to stand against the conformity of Panem's laws and volunteer for me.

No one moved a muscle. I started crying then, smudging my perfectly-applied black eyeliner.

So here I sit now, ready to enter the arena. I'm exhausted, because I've spent most of my time rocking back and forth in my room, writing sad and emotional songs when I probably should have been doing something less important, like training for the Games, or eating or sleeping. I also haven't talked to a single other Tribute, and I'm proud of it. I don't know who any of them are, andI've barely made eye-contact with the girl Tribute from District 5. What's her name? Reela? Roula? Reta? Riita? Ryta? Rika? Riika? Ryyata? Reeka? Roula? Riita? Rika? Reela? Ryta? Reela? Roula? Reta? Riita? Reta? Riita? Ryta? I have no idea. It could be Qwertyucvbn for all I know. I don't care.

What's sad is I'm not scared at all. Even as my stylist (what's his name again?) waves me off cheerily, I wonder whether dying will be an interesting experience. 'The art of living well and dying well are one' is a famous quote about death, and I like to say that I have lived very well. The highlights of my life include meeting President Snow when he toured the Districts once (he sneered at me!), lighting my sister's PanemDolls' heads on fire (twice) and watching 25 straight hours of SpongeBob InfringmentPants (the TV show for rebels), so, yeah, I've lived a pretty good life. So I should die a good death.

I wave emotionlessly at my stylist and climb the steps to the container where I will be trapped, a lone butterfly in a glass cage. Dum-de-dum, *strumming of guitar*, dum-de-dum.

There will be no guitars in the arena. I think.

_Lovely. It's cold. Like my soul. _I smile slightly as I take in the arena. Frosty. A winter wonderland, almost. It looked like we're in the mountains, and there's snow everywhere. It's pretty. It barely crosses my mind that it's likely every single Tribute will freeze to death before the night is over. I'm ready. I close my eyes and spread my arms, waiting for the gong to go off, so I can grab a weapon and kill other kids, like everyone else will.

I hear Reela (or was it Riita?) hissing my name, but i ignore her. This is Me Time, which my psychiatrist says I need a lot of. Me Time is when I shut everyone else out and just pay attention to my inner me.

"_Oi! Norm! Norm!_" I hear her again, but I keep ignoring her.

Partly because I'm still in Me Time, mostly because I hate it when people call me Norm - it signifies The Norm, which is The Normal, which is The Man, which is The Enemy. So to stick it to The Man I have to ignore Reta (or was it Reeka?). Either way, I'm ignoring her.

It's something like five seconds to the gong, when I hear a huge explosion. Not just minor scale. I mean, like, an explosion huge enough to blast the ears off of a Panem-lephant. Have you _seen_ the ears on those animals? Ginormous. And to blast the ears off those things - it'd have to be a big explosion. You get the picture.

The strange thing is, the explosion does not sound like one large explosion. It sounds like a bunch of little explosions going off in quick succession. It takes nearly thirty seconds to finish, and I finally open my eyes.

To see carnage and wreckage everywhere. Like, everywhere. I feel my stomach turning over when I see what looks like grey cauliflower scattered all over the white, snowy ground, which is slowly turning red. Far away, the gong goes off. I take advantage of the moment to lean over the side of my golden platform and spew up my breakfast - not that I had eaten anything other than air and my own misery. Still.

_What the heck happened here?_

"THE WINNER OF THE 5TH HUNGER GAMES!" Claudius Templesmith's voice resounds around the arena, and I flinch, for fear of avalanches. "NORMANUEL SPIHES!"

"But... but... w-w-w-what h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-happened?" I stutter, still dry-heaving.

~:~:~:~

Watching the rewind tape later, I can barely believe my eyes. The crown I've won as Victor sits heavily on my head. I watch as Roula (or was it Ryta?) nods to the other Tributes, who smile grimly at each other, and I stand stupidly off to the side, eyes closed, and arms spread out. The other 23 Tributes close their eyes as well, almost perfectly in sync, and step off their platforms. I swallow as I see them blown to bits, one by one. I nearly throw up again. Mass suicide. They must have planned it beforehand.

If I had talked to at least one of them, I would have known.

So instead, I'm the Victor.

Yay?

~:~:~:~

_My, oh, my. Mass suicide. Serious stuff, ladies and gentlemen, serious stuff. A moment of silence for those lost in that Games. Moment over. Commercial break time! Buy, buy, buy!_

**~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N: **Not sure how I feel about this one. Yay? Review, please!


	6. Commercial 2

**Commercial Break**

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**A Word from Your Sponsor**

The Capital would like to issue an apology for the showing of the last Hunger Games. Mass suicide is no way to behave, no, no, not at all. Every ten years, at least 0.24 teens die from mass suicides. No, if you are feeling the desire to take your own life, please call the number on your screen and we'll send you a free gift card to the Capitol's biggest megamall, the Target Archery Centre, for 1% off your next purchase. (If that purchase exceeds $1,000,000. If it doesn't, your gift card expires.) Kids killing other kids is supposed to promote peace, joy, and our extensive line of sponsorship benefits! The Capitol wishes to inform you, the viewer, that they are deeply sad to have witnessed the preceding Games. So sad. So often, the Games do not have a moral. The Capitol would like to take the opportunity to give you all a moral that will send you to bed happily, in the following montage:

_1. The least beautiful of the Tributes raised her fist in the air. "Well, let's do this!" she cried, her croaky voice screeching above the howling wind. "We have rights. We can do this. Let's not let the Capitol win! Let's kill ourselves rather than kill each other!"_  
_A small mouse skittered out of the jungle and bit her on her big toe. The girl immediately contracted AIDS, gonorrhea and died while having explosive diarrhea. The other kids realized they should probably keep their mouths shut and go back to killing each other like good little Tributes._  
**Fin.**

_2. The last two Tributes, a stunningly hot girl from District 1 and a stunningly hot boy from District 2 leaned in together to shelter from the cold winter wind, even though it was summer. "I love you," she whispered. "I want you. Let's do it, right in front of the cameras!"_  
_The boy chanced to look up, and saw the giant, flesh-eating eagle hovering right above them. _  
_"Ohemgee! There's a giant, flesh-eating eagle hovering right above us!"_  
_"What giant, flesh-eating e-"_  
_The eagle swooped down and killed the girl to death. The boy won the Games but was blinded in the fight. He was later healed by a tireless team of Capitol healers, and when he woke up he fell immediately in love with a good, maidenly Capitol nurse who suffered a lot but was beautiful nonetheless. Her name was Mary Sue._  
**The End.**

_3. The boy was burning, strong and hot. That's because he was on fire. Because he betrayed his best friend. Who was trying to kill him. Which probably goes to show something, but for the life of me I can't figure out what._  
**The End.**

_4. "I'm a cold-blooded killer," the girl purred, stretching her long legs. "And want to kill everyone else in these Games."_  
_Her former best friend, a beautiful, blonde cheerleader with a magnificent rack gasped. "I knew it. You're a murderer!"_  
_"Yes, and now I'm going to steal your boyfriend, Marty Stu of District 2, to show everyone that girls in the Hunger Games can't be friends or allies because there is no emotional drama!" the killer murmured, twirling a knife idly in her fingers. "And I'm going to convince everyone to commit mass suicide!"_  
_The cheerleader gasped again. "I can't do this any longer. I sat back and watched while you torched my District, gave birth to my brother's baby, forced my parents to kill each other and ate my pony. But stealing Marty Stu of District 2 away from me? Not going to happen!" She took a step forward and pushed the 'On' button on a handy flamethrower. _  
_The killer was immediately engulfed in flames._  
_"See you later, bitchy-gator."_  
_The burning corpse just managed to whisper, "In a while, croco-" and then she died of death._  
_The cheerleader went to to become a 20-time winner of the Capitol's Most Gorgeous Grin Award and leader of the Capitol Ladies' Timid Housewives Association.  
_**Fin.**

**~:~:~:~:~:~**

**A/N:** _Thanks for reading, hopefully you're significantly brainwashed now! Thanks for reviews, and I do not own the Hunger Games, nor do I own the book Beauty Queens, on which this chapter was loosely based._


End file.
